


Mauve

by khazadspoon



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, THE DRESS, costumes as disguises, disguises to deal with traumatic events, imposter syndrome, mentioned internalised homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 05:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20058775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khazadspoon/pseuds/khazadspoon
Summary: After the abysmal event that was Carnivale, some of that disappeared. Francis watched as the man withdrew into himself and became distant. He spent less time with the men and it took all of Francis' strength to bring him out. It was like seeing his own melancholy seep into James drop by drop.It was a week until they were to walk out when the true crux of Francis' dilemma was revealed.He walked into the great cabin onboard Erebus with a nod to Bridgens that they should not be disturbed for dinner, full of intentions to draw James out of his dark cloud with gentle words and kisses and other soft affections he shouldn't have been showing but wanted to regardless. When he stepped into the room, it was empty. There was a shuffling from the captain's berth, and then James appeared.





	Mauve

**Author's Note:**

> Another commission from a friend on Tumblr. I adore James-In-A-Dress (and I project my own struggles with femininity and masculinity onto his fictional self) so to write it was a pleasure.

He wished it could have been called an accident. An accident would have soothed the ache of his _ feelings_, the terrible stabs of longing and want and affection that afflict him at the most inconvenient times. He watched his emotions turn from enmity to acceptance to friendship to _ admiration_. That admiration was not safe in its nature - it was warm in his gut, his eyes roaming hungrily across James' broad frame, the heat of his regard like a steam engine stoked to life. 

Francis was torn apart by his regard for his fellow officer. At first, it was simply the fact they were _ men _ . Sodomy was a crime, deemed unholy and base and _ wrong _ by the powers that be. Sir John, if he had ever known, would surely have cast Francis out onto the ice for simply _ thinking _ of such things. Sir John was gone and his influence remained, but Francis came to the decision that affection, _ attraction_, were things beyond his control. 

He supposed it was his stubborn need to continually _ go on _ that kept him from falling victim to the notions of sin and damnation. And besides, what use was fear of damnation when God could not see them in the wasteland they had been trapped in? Francis felt the urge to _ defy _ the expectations of an absent God with every passing moment. It was in his blood, after all - an Irishman in an Englishman' world. But wasn't that a part of his torment as well? The stiff-upper-lip _ pride _in James' demeanour, his pretty English features and his wealthy speech patterns. Francis sometimes felt them grate at his mind and had to consciously put the thought aside. 

But, after spending more time with the man, Francis began to learn James' softness. He observed the way James doted over Neptune, how he cared for the men in an almost grandfatherly way - ensuring they were well-kept, speaking with Goodsir about their health, keeping an eye on how each man had their rations each day. 

James might have appeared aloof and self-serving but there was a _ good man _in him, so close to the surface that he burst forth at times. 

After the abysmal event that was Carnivale, some of that disappeared. Francis watched as the man withdrew into himself and became distant. He spent less time with the men and it took all of Francis' strength to bring him out. It was like seeing his own melancholy seep into James drop by drop. 

It was a week until they were to walk out when the _ true _crux of Francis' dilemma was revealed. 

He walked into the great cabin onboard _ Erebus _with a nod to Bridgens that they should not be disturbed for dinner, full of intentions to draw James out of his dark cloud with gentle words and kisses and other soft affections he shouldn't have been showing but wanted to regardless. When he stepped into the room, it was empty. There was a shuffling from the captain's berth, and then James appeared. 

He was wearing a _ dress_. It was mauve, almost pink, at the arms and where it clung to his waist. The bodice and skirt were a dark green that glittered with shimmering detail. It looked cheap, fraying at the hem and dotted with small stains, and Francis realised with a shock that it was a dress meant for an actor playing Juliet. It clung to James' body like water, his larger frame filling it more than a young man acting in layers of clothing ever could. Francis couldn't help his eyes from staring and he wondered why the man would be wearing such a thing. 

James let out a startled gasp. His face was pale when Francis looked up. His eyes were wide, frightened as a rabbit in a trap, his hair was limp about his sharp features and Francis almost fled the room with the sudden unease in his belly. 

“Francis-” James began in a choked voice, “I- I'm sorry, I didn't realise the time.” He lifted one arm to self-consciously cover himself and the ties of the sleeve caught the light. Francis watched as horror dawned on James' face and felt sick that he had caused that expression. “I'll- excuse me.”

Francis waited in silence as James changed. He heard the shuffling of clothing, saw in his mind's eye the as-of-yet unseen paleness of James' body, and sat at the table with his heart hammering in his chest. When James appeared a few minutes later he was dressed head to toe. No part of him was uncovered save his face and hands. It was as though he had donned armour to deal with whatever Francis was to do to him. Francis felt himself mourn the loss of the sight of James' collarbones. His eyes drifted down to where they lay under three layers of clothing. It stung at his chest. 

After a few minutes of awkward silence, he reached across the table and took James' hand. “I didn't mean to startle you,” he said after a while. And he _ hadn't. _ But it had startled _ him, _too. 

James laced their fingers together and seemed to compose himself. He stayed quiet though, simply staring down at where their hands were connected with a tight set to his jaw. 

“Is it something you wish to talk about?” He asked, hoping to draw James to him again. The sight of the dress had shocked him and knocked him off-kilter, but that didn't stop him from aching at the notion he had hurt this man he was closest to in all the world.

A short, sharp breath. The fingers laced with his own tightened their grip, loosened, as James glanced up at him. “I don't,” he said softly, “but I feel I must, lest it go unspoken and become perversely distorted in your mind.”

The accusation made Francis baulk in his chair. He stiffened for a moment before relaxing. It was not uncalled for, after all - his expression must have been plain, easy to read. 

James tipped his head back and sighed in one long breath. “You no doubt know I have acted on small stages a fair number of times,” he began with a flourish. “Costumes are something I am familiar with. They are almost second nature. Whether the costume is befitting of a man or not, they are all the same - they are disguises. They hide our true selves from sight and protect us from the world.”

He looked up, met Francis' eyes with an unsteady gaze. The sheer vulnerability in that gaze made Francis' stomach drop into his boots. 

“I am a creature of one singular need, Francis; to be _ seen_. Not for who I truly am, but for what I wish I could be - bold, daring, beautiful and _ loved_. It is hard to be those things when you are freezing in your bed each night and unsure if you will wake the next morning.” 

The admission struck at something deep in Francis' mind. He stared, no doubt too intensely, at the unguarded expression on his friend's face and tried to understand the hidden admission within the words. There was something _ more _ to James, something he had not and _ would _not share. He watched as James' tense expression relaxed into something more natural, something that didn't stab at the corners of Francis' heart like daggers dipped in some virulent poison. 

“I am… beyond tired, Francis,” he said quietly. “And there is a heavy burden over our shoulders, a sword of Damocles that only swings closer and closer with each passing moment. The- that _ outfit _provided me with a moment of distance from that burden;” he finished with a short sigh, his lips quirked in a brittle smile that was somehow worse than the fear he had shown before. “The fact you have not run screaming from the room tells me you won't be calling for my punishment any time soon.”

Francis thought back on his unnecessary treatment of the caulker's mate and winced. “It would be hypocritical of me to do so, given what we have shared these past few weeks. No matter my past actions, or perhaps _ because _of them, I won't call for harm to come on any of us again.”

James hummed and relaxed into his chair. His skin was still pale, the remnants of fear and anxiety lingering even as he lifted Francis' hand to kiss the scarred knuckles. “Then I am glad to hear it.”

They lapsed into quiet contemplation, the subject of which Francis could only guess at when it came to James' own mind. But as for himself, it was inevitable. Francis pictured the contours of James' body, hidden in fabric, and felt a stomach-twisting mix of guilt and wonder fill him. The mere minute he had seen the shape of James in the dress haunted him. With unsteady words, he tried to mend what he had tarnished. “You can put it back on if you wanted. I wouldn't take this escape from you.”

The look on James' face at that moment was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “You- Truly?” He asked, voice breathy and soft. Francis nodded. 

As James rose from the table, he appeared aloof and calm, but Francis could see the tense excitement and _ need _ hiding just below the surface. In his excitement, James forgot to shut the door to the captain's berth. Francis saw him change, removing layers of clothes until he was only in a pair of thin breeches. His chest was broad, the musculature defined beneath pale skin, and Francis had a moment to worry about the bruising on his ribcage before the dress was suddenly covering him. Mauve and green with glimmering golden strands woven throughout, the fabric washing over James like water. The effect of it was almost immediate; James' demeanour went from skittish and stressed to relaxed, confident, his posture straightened and he became _ elegant_. It was beautiful.

“Is it truly that freeing?” Francis asked under his breath. 

James startled, his eyes going wide as he looked at Francis from across the room. He watched with his brilliant wide eyes as Francis stood and walked over to him. The dress was soft under his fingers, far softer than he had imagined such a cheap costume might be. It drew a sound from his throat, low and satisfied, even as his heart began to hammer in his chest. To be attracted to a man was one thing - to be attracted to a man in a _ dress _ was another. But, he thought, was it really so strange? James was still broad, still so _ sharp _ and so _ James _even in the dress, to be attracted to him in such an outfit was surely not unusual? And if it had changed him somehow, would that really have been so abhorrent? Francis thought not. He wondered if anything about James would repel him now, close as they were. 

And what was more, it _ suited _him. The colour brought out the pink in his cheeks, made him seem alive in a way none of them were anymore. The low shoulders and deep neckline drew Francis' eyes to James' collarbones, the feature pronounced and more erotic than Francis could ever remember them being on any person before. Had he seen Sophia's collarbones and thought of them as erotic? He couldn't remember doing so. His mind tried to trick him into seeing the swell of breasts as he reached out, one finger tracing a line over the slight frill of the neckline, but there was no such swell. James' chest was flat even with the ample muscle he had. His finger lingered the shadow on James' skin and he felt more than heard the shuddering breath from James' lips. 

“Francis-” He said lowly, his voice low and quiet, only for Francis to hear. 

“I cannot pretend to understand,” Francis replied just as softly, “but I must admit you are a _ pretty _sight, James.” 

He continued to explore with eager hands. He mapped the shape of James' shoulders, moving around him to touch the curve of his chest, his waist, the dip at the base of his spine made more obvious and _ alluring _by the tightness of the dress. The ties were mostly undone. He tugged on them once, heard James' breath catch, and laced them up just shy of too tight. James took a shallow and shaking breath as the fabric constricted. 

“Is it alright?” Francis asked. James nodded, a small _ yes _falling from his lips.

With the laces tightened, Francis moved to the skirt. James' hips were not wide, and they had an angular quality that was both confusing and beautiful to Francis' mind. He pressed a hand to one side and squeezed gently, testing the feel of the thin material under his hand. James gasped, leaned into the touch with a fluttering of his eyelashes. Francis saw the way they fanned against his cheek, casting a small shadow. He imagined the feel of them brushing over his skin and shivered. 

“It is singularly peculiar to feel this,” James whispered. “I know I am still clothed but I feel _ naked_. I can feel your hands as though they are on my skin.”

The notion made Francis' blood run hot. He ran his hands over the curve of James' hips and around to his iliac crest. His fingers fell into the sharp v, separated from skin by the thin fabric. With unsteady hands he lifted the skirts, revealing James' skin inch by inch. It was the first time Francis had seen his legs, the first time he had the time or privacy or _ inclination _to see James' skin beyond what was necessary. 

It struck something deep within him, something that might have remained hidden until his deathbed had he not reached out and _ touched. _Francis' fingertips felt the soft, downy hair on James' thighs before he touched skin. He felt the skin become gooseflesh at the simple touch and began to ache. The ache was strange, distantly familiar and yet unknown as he reached up between James’ thighs. 

The first touch of his hand to James’ cock was like touching fire. He gasped, heard the sound echoed back to him, and felt his own cock twitch in response. The dress fell down over his hand and the sight was _ obscene. _He could see the shape of his fist as it moved beneath the fabric, could see as the tip of James’ prick began to leak and dampen the dress. The urge to drop to his knees and taste that mark almost overwhelmed him. 

“How does it feel?” He asked. “Quickly, tell me _ please.” _

It was begging, he knew it was. But he knew James would not mock him for it. 

Instead, James told him. “It feels- _ remarkable_. I can feel your hand, can _ see _ it even under the dress and it’s like I’m on fire! You’re hard behind me, don’t think that went unnoticed. Use me, Francis, be a _ part _of this with me.”

Francis rolled his hips forward, moaned, pressed against James’ backside. 

“No, lift- lift the dress, unfasten your uniform.”

He did as his Second commanded and the rest became an uncharted expanse of _ feeling_. Francis buried his face in the curls of James’ hair, smelled the salt sweat and sweetness of his skin, pressed his cheek to the soft shoulder of the dress. His cock found purchase on the curve of James’ rump as his hips thrust in small motions. The sensation of skin on skin was one he had thought long forgotten - the warmth, how _ soft _another person’s skin felt when you hadn’t touched someone in years… it made his mind buzz and his skin tingle. 

“Yes”, James whispered, “yes…” His voice cracked, his body listed in Francis’ arms as Francis gripped him tighter. “Yes- _ oh!” _

Francis felt the effect of James’ orgasm before he felt the come on his hand. James went still, his body rigid and tense. His breathing shook and shuddered in his chest and his fingers gripped tightly onto Francis’ jacket until they were bone-white. 

The sensation of skin, of heat, of James losing himself in Francis' touch, was something Francis would never forget. He took a steadying breath and inhaled the sweetness of James' scent. The urge to rut and claim fell to the wayside as he wrapped an arm around his lover's waist and held him upright. The dress crinkled beneath his hands but he didn't care - it was probably past saving regardless. James sagged against him and let out a long sigh. 

“I- I lost myself there for a moment,” James said in a low voice. He seemed drained, all of his energy gone. “You are too good to me, Francis.”

Francis couldn't help the snort. “I am, and always have been, a grumpy old bastard, James. We both know that. I doubt being _ too good _to you is something I am capable of.”

James laughed and took his hand, used the soiled skirts of the dress to wipe it clean. Or as clean as he could. The tenderness of the gesture shook Francis to his core. He knew James was a man of emotion, of gestures and deep reserves of feeling, but he always found is overwhelming when that singular personality was pointed at _ him_. Francis was _ not _a man of grand emotions - he felt, and deeply, but he found it hard to express what he wanted to say in anything more than a few gruff words and well-intentioned shoulder pat. 

They were so _ different,_ he and James. Their backgrounds, their characters and temperaments, even their eating habits and opinions on _ dogs _ were nearly polar opposite. How could this have _ happened? _Francis felt his chest seize as James' careful gesture finished. He watched as James disentangled himself from Francis’ arms and swallowed the lump in his throat. Their relationship had been a strange one from the very start, with the near-frantic quality of their first kiss to the gentle and almost reverent way he touched Francis under cover of night. 

The creak of wood and a raspy cough from outside made Francis' blood turn cold. He stepped away quickly, fastening his breeches as he tried to look somewhat presentable. The door didn't open. No one came in to break the strange, comforting atmosphere they had created. 

“It's alright,” James said softly. He reached behind himself and began unlacing the dress strand by strand. “John, Mr Bridgens, knows. He won't allow an interruption unless it is _ entirely _necessary.”

Francis gently batted James' hands away and unlaced the dress in quick motions. “He let me in.”

“I made an exception. My door is open to you, Francis, whether it is convenient or not.”

He felt another of those disturbing stabs at his chest. “James, I-” The words caught in his throat, slipped back down into his chest and left him on unsteady ground. 

“It's alright,” James responded quietly. “I am aware of the imbalance here; both in our positions and our feelings. You do not need to express sentiments or desires that are there just to appease me.”

Francis stared at him, hoping the shock and exasperation were clear on his features. “And I thought I was blind to others. _ James_, can't you see? I'm halfway in love with you, you damned fool! It's been more than just a _ desire _for some time now. Am I that inscrutable? Can you not see that I would bend to your will, that if you asked for us to stay here and die together I would do it?” He paused, breathed in deep lungfuls of air that seemed suddenly too warm and too thick. It steadied him somewhat, though the effect was reduced by the fright and shock on James' face. He reached up and cupped the man's cheek. James' skin was soft, cool but not cold, and Francis wondered what it would be like to lie naked with him in summer - warm, unhurried, no monsters or men or epaulettes to dictate their lives. 

Francis leaned up with his hand still on James’ cheek. He kissed James firmly, poured his dedication and desire and that unformed _ love _ into the kiss. It stung at his lips, bittersweet lemon that gave to them out here what nothing else could. It _ saved _him, in a way, to kiss James. Their mouths moved gently, just a press of lips with no intent on carnality or stoking fires that were only embers.

James' arms wrapped around him and held on tight, tugged him close until he thought he might melt into James and become a part of him. Maybe then he would learn all the secrets James kept so close to his chest. He stroked his hands down the soft fabric of the dress and sank his fingers into the gaps between the laces and sighed, breaking the kiss with herculean effort. 

“If there is anything, anything at all, you want to tell me,” he started, still wrapped in James' arms and breathing in his presence, “I want you to know- I will always listen. My door is open to you, James, just as yours is to me.”

He heard the sobs that wracked through James' body. The arms around him held on tighter for a moment and Francis thought he had said the wrong thing. He began to pull away, to try and fix what he had accidentally broken-

“Thank you,” James whispered between them. “I… thank you.” When James moved away enough for Francis to see him, his face was blotchy and pink from tears. He sniffled, wiped at his cheeks, and let out a long sigh of breath. It visibly steadied him as he ran his hands down the front of the dress. 

Francis smiled at him and backed away to give him space. “Now, I assume I came here to talk to you about something,” he said with a smile, “but I can't for the life of me think of what that is.”

James laughed lightly. “Then stay until you remember. I'll… go and change.”

He quickly put a hand on James'. “Only if you wish to.”

“I do wish to. Feel free to try it on yourself, if you're curious!”

He choked on nothing and listened as James laughed, the berth door closing with a_ click behind_ him. He imagined himself dressed up, frills and petticoats and rouge on his cheeks. It seemed ridiculous. The thought of _James in_ such an outfit, however… Francis flushed pink.

Perhaps on another day, or in another life, they might have had the chance to see what this new aspect could mean.


End file.
